Begrudgingly, Ember surrendered to the pair of nude, strappy, four-inch heels. Arms out to the side, she made a few passes around the room without tripping or getting a nosebleed.
“Okay, you’re right.” She pointed a toe. “I like them.”
Construction cranes dotted the skyline of downtown Fort Worth. The city bustled with people, workers garbed in suits and dresses, and visitors taking in the arts and culinary treasures.
Ember stood outside the attorney’s office building waiting for Mr. Montgomery to arrive. She wrenched her head back staring up a forty-story wall of glass, gaze directed at a sign bearing the name Harris Tower.
“Well that explains a lot. I guess ranching is his hobby,” she murmured. The skyscraper was interspersed between several older buildings, all sporting the name Harris, that had been artfully restored into high-end residential lofts.
Mr. Montgomery arrived right on time, appearing a bit more polished than normal, wearing a bolo tie fashioned from a black leather chord and jade green stone. His fresh trademark bone colored hat was missing the signs of perspiration and hard work.
After checking in with the front desk, they made their way to the thirtieth floor.
Dragging his fingers over his mustache, he slid her a glance of approval. “You look like you’re ready to kick some butt today, Miss Thompson.”
“Why, thank you Mr. Montgomery. You’re looking pretty spiffy yourself.” The edges of her mouth tipped upward. “Got any advice for me?”
He pondered her question. “Remember that these men may seem like a real pain in the ass at the moment, pardon, but most would be there to help in times of need.”
She replied with a slow nod taking in that little nugget of information. It was something she hadn’t considered.
“Respect isn’t merely given. You have to earn it. Especially since you’re a woman. Youth and beauty won’t get you bonus points in here.” He paused. “But brazenness will.”
She pulled a deep cleansing breath in through her nose.
The elevator doors parted with a ding. “Now, let’s see you go in there and grab the bull by the horns.”
The memory of the ranch hands throwing the cows to the ground right before branding them with a red-hot iron flashed in her mind. The image was quickly followed by a comical vision of her standing atop a boardroom table slamming some poor rancher’s face to the table, heel holding them to the sleek surface.
“I got this,” she dared to say out loud, unsure of who she was hoping to convince, her or Mr. Montgomery.
Exiting the elevator, they entered the vast, modern office space. A receptionist stepped out from behind a semi-circular contemporary desk made of dark walnut and frosted glass, leading them into an empty conference room.
The large, narrow room offered magnificent floor-to-ceiling views of Fort Worth. However, she found the open concept design to the lobby to be distracting giving her the sensation of being in a fishbowl. Office workers went about their normal work routines, immune to their presence, but the butterflies in her stomach felt more like seagulls divebombing for fish, watching people step off the elevator.
Turning her back to the lobby, she set her purse on the floor beside a chair and moved toward the windows overlooking the city. Glimpsing her reflection in the glass, she ran her hand over her hair, smoothing any stray flyaways from her posh ponytail. She fidgeted a bit, squaring her shoulders and praying for a facade of confidence.
Mr. Jenson promptly arrived five minutes early. He was a distinguished man, short in stature and a bit portly, but surrounded by an air of no-nonsense. After a brief introduction, he cut right to the chase. “I did some digging last night and looked over your father’s will. It states that the ranch is to be left to his heir, Ember Thompson.”
“So, it’s a scare tactic?”
“It’s not totally without merit, but they’re grasping at straws. Desperately overreaching. It’ll never hold up in court.”
Perspective buyers filtered into the lobby, drawing her attention. The receptionist escorted them into the conference room, one by one, as they arrived. Ember worked to keep her hands from shaking, extending cordial, impersonal introductions. All the while, her internal thoughts spinning, convincing herself that behind their big, shiny belt buckles and arrogant smiles, they were all just men. Flesh and blood, no better or no worse than her.
I will not let them intimidate me.
Ember’s breath hitched, glimpsing a familiar face and a set of wide shoulders out of the corner of her eye. An odd sense of comfort tipped the corners of her lips upward.
Their eyes caught as Nash bypassed the reception desk, merely greeting the woman with a brief hello. He looked polished and relaxed, exuding a ridiculous amount of poise, dressed in a dark expensive-looking suit.
Still staring straight at her, Ember was engulfed by the sea of blue. Her pulse ticked at the side of her neck and a blush crept over her face.
The man was unapologetically masculine. A force of nature not to be reckoned with.
Confident.
Sexy.
As he started toward the conference room, the smile slowly slid from her lips like a swirl of ice cream melting over a sugar cone on a hot summer day.
Her brows furrowed.
A riff of confusion trickled down her spine.
Ember could barely hear her own voice over the hammering of her pulse when she twisted her head, leaning into Mr. Montgomery’s ear, asking, “Nash Harris wouldn’t happen to be NBH Exploration, would he?”
Mr. Montgomery looked toward the doorway. “Yes, I believe he is.”
Her hands balled into fists. A low whisper slipped from her lips, “Son-of-a-bitch.”
Mr. Montgomery cast her a speculative frown. “Problem?”
“No sir,” she bit from behind her clenched jaw.
Nash entered the conference room and made his way to the far side of the table where she stood. He extended a hand, but Ember rebuffed the cordial niceties, offering an icy glare in return.
He studied her thoughtfully, a touch of softness and offhanded amusement lurked in the creases of his eyes as he dropped his arm to his side.
“Miss Thompson, nice to see you again.”
“Wished I could say the same.”
“Now that we’re all here, let’s get this meeting started,” her attorney announced. The group of eight potential buyers took their seats around the table. “You’ve already met Miss Thompson.”
The drone of Mr. Jenson’s voice faded to the background. Minutes passed, her mind spinning out of control. Ember thought back, revisiting each of their previous encounters. She wondered why he never told her that he was trying to buy the ranch? Exactly how long had he known who she was?
On top of everything else, she privately scolded herself for being even remotely attracted to him.
Swamped with feelings of humiliation for thinking they shared some sort of chemistry, a connection, she looked everywhere but his direction, refusing to make eye contact with him. Her lips pursed into a stiff, blade-thin line.
Unfortunately, the more she forced her attention elsewhere, the more she understood what Mr. Montgomery had meant when he said she’d have to earn their respect. Each of the men, except Nash, surrounding the table was at least twice her age and bore the same aura of distinguished power and leadership.
Everywhere she turned, Ember found eyes filled with antipathy, contempt, and determination.
She’d never felt so insignificant.
So incredibly small.
And she didn’t like it.
“Miss Thompson also has a few things she’d like to add,” she heard Mr. Jenson announce.
Ember felt Mr. Montgomery’s hand gently close around her wrist like a rubber band, encouraging her to react. She wasn’t certain how long the attorney had been speaking, focus lost to the group of compelling figures lining the table.
In a blur, she stood from her chair, fighting the urge to squirm under their cumulative g
azes. Struggling to keep her nerves from spewing from her lips in a rush of rambled words, she steadied her voice.
“Thank you for coming. Most of you had the pleasure of knowing my father and all of you know that, unfortunately, I did not. I’ll start by saying thank you for your condolences.” Ember squared her shoulders and took a breath. “As much as I’m touched by the thoughtfulness of your generous gifts and repeated calls of hospitality, I’d appreciate it if you’d all step back and allow me to grieve a man, an extraordinary man, I never had the privilege of meeting. I need this space. I’ve got a lot to learn about Walker Ranch in a short amount of time.”
An older gentleman at the far end of the table cleared his throat. “Don’t take offense, Miss Thompson, but ranching isn’t a hobby. You can’t expect to learn a lifetime’s worth of experience, skills that are handed down from one generation to the next, in a matter of a few months.” His curt assessment was delivered in a cool, chiding tone. Heads around the table bobbed in agreement. “Wouldn’t it just be simpler to sell the estate, fill your pockets, and move on?”
Another man added, “Your lack of knowledge could be a detriment to the ranch as a whole, the cattle, the employees, the value of the land. I could go on. In four months, it could all go to hell in a handbasket.”
The burn of their stares seared through her skin. Her heart raced. The harsh words of reality sparked a dark, rebellious streak of defiance and determination.
“Let’s not pretend that I’m not at a disadvantage. Clearly, I am. However, whether I sell Walker Ranch, or stay in the cattle business, or venture into the oil business, is none of your concern.” Fingers spread wide, she pressed the pads of her fingers against the table for support. “But, make no mistake, the same blood that ran through my father’s veins runs through mine. His strength and tenacity will guide me. My choices…my decisions, won’t be easily swayed by gifts, or a dazzling smile—” Her gaze snapped to Nash. She contained the urge to add nice ass. “—or a boatload of money.”
The mood in the room shifted.
“I plan to abide by my father’s wishes and stay the four months.” She shrugged a thin shoulder. “If it all goes to hell in a handbasket then I guess one of you will be right there, circling overhead, waiting for the chance to pick it clean. But if I were you, I wouldn’t hold my breath. Between Mr. Montgomery and the team of workers already put in place, my father left me and the ranch in very capable hands.”
Judging by the ambiguous look covering Nash’s face, she couldn’t decide if he was shocked or angry or just won the lottery, but regardless, he was the first to rise from his seat, acknowledging her statement. “I’m sure Monty will steer you in the right direction. Look forward to hearing from you, on this matter, in thirteen weeks.”
Does he think we have another matter to discuss?
Damn straight we do.
Men shook their heads in disbelief, a clear indication of doubt and hostility, rising from their spots at the table. Not one of them approached her, in fact, they acted as if she were invisible.
Animosity rolled off her.
She was shaking with it.
Her emotions were raw, riding right on the surface and impossible to conceal. Anger and frustration flashed inside.
“Oh, and before you leave—” She reached for the clear glass of water sitting in front of her and swiped her tongue over the rim. “One of you requested a buccal swab.”
Inwardly, she cringed at her behavior. Ember never lost her temper and considered herself to be a mild-mannered person. She’d grown up in a Zen household, encouraged to see the best in people and to share her feelings with an open heart. Not anger.
No one bothered to collect the cup before departing. Nash strolled out of the room with the herd of good ol’ boys. She couldn’t decide if he merely fit in with the pack or led it. Either way, she was right on his heels.
“’Preciate your vote of confidence, Miss Thompson. Me, and the men at the ranch, we’ve got your back just as we had your father’s.”
“Thank you, Mr. Montgomery. That means the world to me,” she obliged, exiting the conference room. Ember turned to her attorney. “Thank you for setting up the meeting, Mr. Jenson.”
Standing at the back of the pack in front of the elevators, she clasped the handles of her bag with a death grip.
When the doors opened, Nash insisted, “You boys go ahead. I’ll take the next one.”
Mr. Montgomery graciously waited for Ember to enter, but she shook her head. “I’m taking the next one.”
He gawked at her for a quick beat, dark eyes flooded with strained curiosity darting between her and Nash. He tipped his hat. “Good luck.”
They stood side by side, eyes forward, unstable energy rising in a silent battle of wills.
The stillness between them far more potent than words.
The ding of the second elevator nearly jolted her out of her skin, leaving her breathless and lightheaded. The doors parted and Nash motioned her inside the empty elevator with a quick sweep of his hand, insisting she go first.
Ember scowled.
Nash leveled her with a steady gaze. “After you.”
“How sweet,” she clipped, head bobbling back and forth sassily, marching into the lift. “You’re just full of typical Texas manners today.”
“I conduct myself with manners every day.”
“You don’t fool me. Not anymore.”
The doors closed, locking them inside. Pressing his back to the stainless steel, Nash crossed his legs at the ankle and loosened the knot of his tie.
“You held your own in there today.”
Her lip snarled upward in disgust. “Don’t even try that bullshit with me. You don’t give a damn about me or the ranch.”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”
“Well, I guess that’s refreshing. So, you mean what you say, but when you don’t say anything…that’s when I shouldn’t trust you.”
“I never said you should—”
“Why didn’t you tell me that you were trying to buy Walker Ranch?”
The elevator gave a slight bounce before coming to a stop. Nash didn’t bother waiting. He filed out of the elevator leaving her behind. Ember followed, arms swinging in full motion, attempting to keep up with his long strides. Stopping at a door, he entered a code into a touch pad alarm system, turned the handle and went inside.
Hands on hips, chest heaving with each breath, she marched right behind him. Crossing over the threshold, her senses were flooded with elusive traces of citrus and leather. Her pace slowed to a crawl as she partly indulged in, and partly warded off, the pleasant squeezing sensation gathering near the bottom of her belly.
The heel of her shoe caught on the edge of the carpet sending her reeling face forward toward the floor. Her eyes popped wide in horror as a loud shrill echoed through the room.
Nash spun attempting to catch her when she pitched forward, but she face-planted straight into his abdomen nearly knocking both off their feet.
Her arms flew around his waist, fingers digging into his lower back, scrambling to keep from crashing to the floor. Nash gripped her arms and staggered backwards, dragging her with him.
When the commotion came to a stop, the side of her face was smashed against his chiseled stomach muscles, her body stretched out long from head-to-toes in a slanted plank position, as she clung to his hips.
Ember panted like a wanton hussy in a bar full of single men. The moist heat from her heavy breathing fogged against his belt buckle.
Mortification set in.
Peeling her cheek from his waistband, she clung to his flexing biceps, struggling to get her feet beneath her knees. Nash clasped her by the arms, the length of his fingers sinking into her flesh, lifting her with ease.
He half growled and half laughed, hauling her to her feet. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I didn’t do it on purpose. I tripped,” she stammered breathlessly.
“You okay
?”
Caught in an awkward embrace, her hands wedged between their bodies, palms planted against the fine fabric covering his hard chest. The pounding rhythm of his heart pulsed against the flat of her hands.
Their breath mingled in rapid gusts of air, fanning across their faces. A small tremor rippled through her body. Being held so close was dangerous. She knew she should take a step back but couldn’t force herself to move.
He felt too good.
Way too damn good.
In fact, she’d never experienced such a rush of sentiments at one time. Anger, fear, desire, lust, and everything in between, wreaked havoc on her typically calm sanities.
“You’ve got—” He dragged the pad of his thumb from the edge of her lips to the side of her cheek. “—some lip gloss on your cheek.”
Ember remained still, mortification gathering traction as he made several passes over the stain on her skin. The back of his fingers brushed along the side of her throat, decelerating the hammering of her heart to a painful throb.
Slowly, she lowered her hands and inched away from him, the break in connection bringing a cold ache to her insides. His blue eyes wandered over her face with intricate fascination. A smile hooked the corners of his mouth, giving her cheek one final swipe.
His tenderness disarmed her.
Wrecked her.
Ember forced herself to take a step back. Gaining her bearings, her eyes darted around the room to see if anyone was watching. She half expected to find an entire group of office workers looking on with camera phones in hand, but what she witnessed was even more embarrassing.
“Oh. My. God. You live here?”
“Yeah, this is my place.”
The acknowledgment didn’t do her any favors. The idea of being in his home, so close to his personal space…his bedroom…far too risky. Longing and desire trampled through her, undermining any residual loathing lingering at the corners of her heart, turning her face crimson red.
“I’m sorry. I…I was so pissed, I just barged right in—”
“And tried to tackle me to the ground,” he interjected with a sultry grin. Ember moved toward the kitchen island, putting some much-needed air between them. Nash mimicked her movements, slinking toward her until her hips bumped against the granite counter, leaving only inches between the lengths of their bodies. “Ya know, if you wanted me on my back, all you had to do was ask. I’d gladly oblige.”
Catching Ember (Buckle Up Series Book 1) Page 9